


The Substitute

by DistractedBySparklyThingsAndToast



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Duchy of Glenfinnan - it only exists in my gray matter, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Judy11 is partially to blame for this..., Sex, William Fraser - Freeform, not sure where this is going, this wanted out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:02:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27537256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistractedBySparklyThingsAndToast/pseuds/DistractedBySparklyThingsAndToast
Summary: Jamie and William Fraser, two sons of the Laird of Broch Tuarach, are caught poaching on land belonging to the hated Duchess of Glenfinnan.  In order for William to continue his training as the future Laird Broch Tuarach, his younger brother, Jamie, offers himself as a substitute.  He signs his freedom away for a whole year and things just don't go well at first...
Relationships: Brian Fraser/Ellen MacKenzie Fraser, Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser, Jamie Fraser/Jenny Fraser
Comments: 108
Kudos: 128





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WickedGoodBooks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedGoodBooks/gifts).



> Okay, so I know I promised a Jenny/Ian confection. It will have to wait. This idea was having a "come-apart" in my braincase. Please let me know if you are interested in my continuing this. It is a WIP (Work In Progress), so it may change somewhat. Suggestions, ideas, likes and dislikes and sparky things always welcome! Now Jenny Fraser-Murray is kicking me in my mental patella demanding equal time with her brother... so posting for this fic will be slow. I have to placate the dervish that is Jenny, too... *sigh.*
> 
> So, do you guys want fluff/smut in this? It's your stew... I am undecided and totally not there yet but I'd like your input!

The guards had mounted their horses and took off in search of the runaway. Back at Thistle Glen House, its mistress reasoned he couldn’t have gone far - he hadn’t been here long enough to get an accurate lay of the land. Still, she was amazed at his cunning and his sheer bravado. His own family was too far away to reach unless he had three days and a horse. Walking, it would take him more than a week; and he didn’t have any food or water with him, she was reasonably sure. She stretched her arm and pulled one of many rolled parchments stacked in an old, heavy bookshelf. The newest scroll had a soft wool ribbon patterned in his family’s tartan holding it closed. Bits of wax still clung to the ends of the ribbon. She smoothed the beautiful parchment onto the desk and placed books on each corner to keep it open. “I, James Alexander Malcom MacKenzie Fraser, do confess that my brother, William David MacKenzie Alasdair Fraser, heir to the Laird Broch Tuarach, and I did commit a grievous crime against Her Grace, the Duchess of Glenfinnan, on November 1, 1743, when we did kill and remove two deer and five rabbits from her lands without permission. The law allows for the injured party to demand service from the family of the criminal(s). Her Grace demanded that William Fraser pay her with a year of service for the animals. I do hereby swear that I have reached my twenty-first year and do pledge, upon my honor, to serve Her Grace for the term of 365 days as her bondsman in my brother’s stead. In return, she will release and hold him harmless for our malfeasance. Signed this day, Thursday November 5, 1743, at Thistle Glen House, between Master James Alexander Malcom MacKenzie Fraser of Lallybroch and Master William David MacKenzie Alasdair Fraser of Lallybroch and Her Grace, Claire Moriston, Duchess of Glenfinnan”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I updated some stuff AGAIN... I know, I know... *sigh* but a third chapter is coming soon, my dearies!

The next morning, she sat in her study, enjoying a cup of tea. She heard the clatter of hooves in the courtyard and looked out the window. They’d found him. She used her second-story study window to boldly ogle him. Never had Claire seen a more beautiful man. James Fraser was 6’4, with curly red hair, high cheekbones and eyes the color of the ocean that slanted invitingly, rather feline-like. At about 225 pounds of pure, hulking muscle, she could see that Marley, the head of her guard, had fought hard. The man himself pulled Fraser behind Atlas, the prized Shire in Claire's stables. Shaw had a black eye and fat lip and Reynolds had lost his coat. His waistcoat was covered in mud and ripped. Fraser’s hands were manacled and a rope was tied to the chains to make Fraser more “agreeable” to progress towards the house. Fraser’s long stride was hampered by the fetters around his ankles that scraped the ground leaving a strange snail-trail behind him. Claire entered the courtyard and stood impassively, waiting while Fraser was released from the saddle. The guards frog marched him in front of Claire and ordered him on his knees to beg forgiveness from his mistress. When he refused, he was punched in the stomach and kicked in the back of his knees to make him obey. Jamie crumpled onto his knees and fell forward onto his hands with the force of the blows.   
“Bring his head up,” Marley growled. A guard seized a handful of curls and yanked his powerful head back, eliciting a snarl of pain from the giant below him. Jamie looked at the imperious woman before him, chocolate-brown curls blowing in a halo around her head that crowned brown eyes, ivory skin and lush lips.  
“Fraser, do you know the meaning of the word “bondsman?” Claire looked into narrowed blue-icicle eyes.  
“Aye, I do.” He spat.  
“Tell me, then, what is the definition of ‘bondsman’?”   
Fraser licked his parched lips and rumbled, “’Tis someone who pledges fealty and service to another.”   
“And do you know an old definition of the word, Fraser?” Fraser remained obstinately silent.  
“Alright, I’ll tell you. It is ‘slave,’ Fraser. When you signed that contract, you agreed to be my property for the next year. Was that clear to you when you committed yourself?”   
“Aye, ‘twas.”  
“Why did you try to escape, then?”  
“To go back home, to hunt again with my brothers so we could provide food for my father’s tenants, who are starving!” Fraser glared defiantly at the tiny woman standing above him, “An’ we had failed crops two years in a row. Our crofters canna feed their families and most have no place to go! We’ve hunted our lands near bare of game. Ye know that game is scarce in the countryside because of the harsh winter we had. Remember the wildfires? The land was decimated. What would ye have us do? Let our people starve?” He looked disdainfully at her small form. With her tiny waist and slender hands, he could break her like a damn twig, given the chance.  
“Your father is a Laird in his own right. As the son of a fellow estate owner, why did you not just ask to hunt here?”   
He sneered at her, anger and scorn dripping from his voice, “All yer neighbors hate ye. We all know about Kenny Gordon. Yer estate manager flogged him near to death and dismissed him – and for what? Stealin’ food? The man was hungry! Ye’re a Sassenach, an outsider. God only knows what His Grace was thinkin’, marryin’ a hateful Englishwoman to plant amongst our midst like a weed that will choke a garden!”   
Before Claire could stop herself, she stepped up to Fraser and slapped him with all her might. His head snapped to the right and the blow reverberated in the chamber. Fraser growled and rubbed his cheek. Claire shouted, “Stealing food? You think I had a man flogged and dismissed from my service for stealing food because he was hungry? Is that the bald-faced lie he spread?”  
She turned around and Jamie could see her shoulders quivering. She took a deep breath and whirled around. “I would never deny any of my workers food, Fraser. I’m not an animal! The reason he was flogged so brutally and dismissed?” She moved very close to him and he saw that her eyes weren’t brown, as he’d previously thought. They were a whisky color, with golden flecks. She spoke in a voice barely above a whisper so the guards couldn't hear her, “He raped me! He snuck into my bedroom one night after he’d had too much to drink, bound and gagged me and had his way with me. I wasn’t found until the next morning and almost didn’t survive. So, yes, I had him flogged within an inch of his miserable life and dismissed!”  
Jamie’s face drained of blood and his wame rolled when he heard what’d really happened. His mouth fell open and he lowered his eyes, ashamed of what he’d said. He sank back on his haunches and thought, “What if that’d been Jenny?” Jenny was his sister and his confidante in the family. Jamie would defend to the death Jenny, his mother or any woman who needed protection .  
He stammered an apology, still keeping his eyes downcast. “Mistress, please forgive me. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”  
Claire ignored him, and the head of the guard cleared his throat and said, “Your Grace, what shall his punishment be?”   
Claire looked down at the man below her, considering. “I don’t know yet. Bring him downstairs and leave his restraints on. Chain him to the wall by his neck in case anyone needs to go in the cell. “Fraser, are you hungry?” Jamie shifted uncomfortably and admitted, “Aye, Mistress, I could eat a bear.” Claire sneered at him and snapped to one of the houseboys, “Tell Mrs. Fitz to make three plates for him. I will bring it down to him myself. I wouldn’t want him thinking I let my servants go hungry,” she looked Jamie dead in the eye, daring him to say anything. Jamie blushed furiously and lowered his gaze again. Feet shuffled behind him and Jamie was pulled to his feet. He did not resist as he was brought to the lowest level of the great house. Per the duchess’ orders, the men pushed him into the cell, enclosed his neck in an iron collar embedded in the masonry, locked the cell and left him there without a backward glance. As far as they were concerned, he was a petty criminal and deserved no better treatment.   
A few minutes later, Claire descended the stone stairs with three guards, all bearing plates of food and drink. She watched them push the plates into the cell and demanded that Jamie eat them while she watched,   
“Go on, Fraser, eat up. I’m trying to rehabilitate my image!” She spat angrily. “At least at the end of this year, you will be able to say that nobody denied you a meal!”  
Jamie blushed crimson and wisely stayed silent. He made his way first through a small bowl of beef stew with warm buttered bannocks on the side. Next came a plate of sausages with gravy, neeps and tatties. The second plate held a thick slab of ham with a white pepper sauce, garlicky carrots and cabbage rolls. The last held hot apple cobbler with a cinnamon-cardamom sauce and whipped cream. Shortbread cookies were last, all washed down with delicious cool ale from the estate.   
He pushed all the dishes back into the room and carefully stood, warm woolen dun bonnet in hand,  
“Mistress, I thank ye for all the delicious food. I didn’a deserve it after how I spoke to ye. I am sorry and I hope ye can see yer way clear to fergivin’ me someday. I will take my punishment fer tryin’ ta escape and serve out my agreed time. I give ye my oath; ye’ll have no further problems from me, dinna fash.”   
Claire bit back a smile and said, “Hamilton, remove his collar.” The man stepped forward warily and quickly freed Jamie’s powerful neck. “Don’t make me regret my kindnesses to you, Fraser.”   
He swallowed and replied quickly, “No, yer Grace, I won’. Thankee.”  
Jamie looked down at the fierce woman in front of him. He could swear her eyes were sparking with mirth as she said quietly, “Very well, Fraser. Someone will bring you breakfast in the morning. Sleep well.”  
He sighed and curled up on his pallet underneath the woolen blanket. He fell asleep almost immediately despite the chains. Many hours later, he started awake as he heard the door to his level opening slowly. Whoever was coming down the stairs knew nothing about stealth. He feigned sleep and kept his back toward the cell door. It was a full moon and there was no need for a lantern. His cell door was opened and before the intruder could touch him, he rolled to his feet and plowed into the other man’s stomach with his iron fist. In the moonlight, Jamie could see that it was Marley and two guards Jamie had hurt quite badly during his capture. Two of them kicked him to the ground and stuffed a rag into his mouth, tying a handkerchief tightly around his face so he couldn’t call for help. Two of them held him and the third would take his time with his fists, feet, or a blade, laughing when Jamie screamed behind the gag. Jamie was kicked and punched indiscriminately, hoisted to his feet just to be knocked down with powerful fists. The abuse went on and on until Marley kicked him in the stomach and smashed his head against the cell floor, declaring that he was tired and thirsty. His colleagues followed him out the door and Jamie was locked inside again. He ripped the gag out and stumbled to his pallet, crying from the pain. He tried to slow his breathing so he could fall asleep. He finally woke and wished to die; his body screamed from the beating. All he could do was groan and cover himself with the blanket, lying huddled on his pallet. Later that morning, Marley ate most of Jamie's breakfast and laughed at the prone man. He kicked Jamie’s breakfast through the opening in the cell door, upsetting the bowl of now-cold porridge dregs and empty plate that had held the bannocks onto the dirty floor and spilling the tankard of water. Jamie was half asleep but roused himself to eat. He crawled over to the food, licked the bowl clean and ate the bread. He collapsed back on his pallet and wished for death.   
The next morning, the guards brought Jamie breakfast and Marley, that bastard, waited until they left. He sat down and ate most of the food meant for Jamie and kicked the rest to him. Jamie waited until he was gone and ate a bit of egg off the dirty floor and the crusts Marley had left him. He fell into a fitful sleep and could not see any end to this torture. The same pattern repeated every time Marley brought food.  
On the afternoon of the fourth day after Jamie’s beating, the duchess came to the dungeon. He would suffer 20 lashes for his attempted escape. She opened the door and walked over to the cell. His massive form was curled up on his pallet and he was snuggled into his blanket.   
“Fraser! Wake up!” she called his name, but Fraser didn’t react. That didn’t seem like the brash young man from a few days ago. Claire became concerned and made the guard, Peter Lauder, open the cell. He followed her into the cell. She knelt and shook Jamie’s shoulder vigorously. Jamie fell onto his back from the force and stared at her with glassy eyes and a hollow stare. Claire gasped and screamed for a second guard. Alan Johnstone came running with Marley close on his heels. She swore and gently pinched Jamie’s skin, furious when his skin didn’t snap back quickly. Extreme dehydration. She stood up and barked, “Johnstone! Run to the kitchen and have Mrs. Fitz give you some warm broth!” Seeing him hesitate, she yelled, “Go, man, Fraser is dying!” He took off like a ban sidhe was chasing him and returned a few minutes later with a basket that held a cup, a spoon, a bowl, a napkin and warm bread (from Mrs. Fitz, “just in case”). There was a large jar of warm broth nestled in the center. She ordered Johnstone to get Jamie water. She uncapped the broth and poured some into the little bowl. She ordered Johnstone to sit Jamie upright. Claire lifted his head gingerly and carefully trickled water down his parched throat, a miniscule bit at a time. She spoke to him the entire time, urging him to accept the liquid and open his eyes. She continued giving him water and spooned warm broth into his mouth, gently stroking his throat to encourage him to swallow. After about 20 minutes of feeding him, she ordered Jamie to be carried upstairs. His chains were struck off and Lauder called for reinforcements – it took four men to carry Fraser upstairs. She had him installed in a bedroom next to hers so she could watch over him in the night. She ordered hot water, soap and clean clothes for him. Ever-cautious, she ordered two more men to guard the chamber in case Fraser woke. The large copper basin was filled with hot water and Claire got to work, Johnstone and Lauder in the room with her. She requested her medical bag, stripped Jamie naked and saw the damage someone had inflicted on a helpless Jamie – he had angry crop marks, blood and dirt, enormous bruises and bloody cuts over his entire body. Lauder swallowed loudly when he saw the abuse and Johnstone crossed himself. All her men knew that she alone was the person who decided punishment. She got the four men to place him gently in the tub. She washed his hair and battered body, getting angrier and angrier as she saw more and more and evidence of abuse. She smoothed arnica ointment on his wounds for faster healing and stitched the larger cuts. She bandaged what wounds couldn’t be left to the air. Why was he so dehydrated? She was sure to send him three simple meals per day. Mrs. Fitz confirmed every day that she’d sent Marley to Fraser. His job was to bring the food down and push it under the hole in the cell door. Had Fraser spurned the food? Surely he was thirsty and needed the water. Even though he might not have wanted to eat, the water was the important thing. She put a fine linen shirt on his clean body and the guards eased him under the covers. She sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed his curls away from his face tenderly, whispering, “I am sorry, Fraser. Whoever did this to you, he will pay dearly.” Lying down, he looked younger than his 21 years. She hoped to God he’d get a good night’s rest tonight. She ordered Johnstone and Lauder to keep all except herself and Mrs. Fitz out of the room. Just as she was preparing to leave, Johnstone cleared his throat,   
“Beggin’ yer pardon, Yer Grace, but Fraser didna waste any food or drink. Marley was angry at Fraser for beatin’ him and either ate most of Fraser’s food or upset it so Fraser had nothin’ ta eat or drink.”  
Claire’s stomach fell, “Lauder, can you corroborate this?”   
Lauder looked down at his feet, “Aye, Yer Grace. We couldn’a say anythin’ because Marley threatened our families if we said anything. He forced two other men to help him and he threatened to have them dismissed for stealing. Smith and MacAllister both came to me separately about it."   
“I see. Alright. Stay here for a minute.” Claire walked downstairs and ordered two more men to guard Jamie’s chamber.  
“Lauder, Johnstone, you’re with me. We’re going downstairs.” The men exchanged small smiles. They hated Marley. He was unnecessarily brutal to prisoners and cruel to coworkers.   
They arrived downstairs and Claire looked Marley square in the face and slapped him,   
“That’s for abusing Fraser and other prisoners. Idiot, you could have killed him! I’ve turned a blind eye to your excesses up until now because you’ve been an asset to this house, but you’ve gone beyond the pale this time.” Marley just stared incredulously at Claire, “Did ye see the shiner the bastard gave me, Yer Grace?”  
Claire shouted, “Of course I saw it, Marley! He was trying to defend himself! He gave you a black eye, but that’s no reason to starve a man to death! You are dismissed (fired)! Gentlemen, get this piece of filth off my property, please, and get help if you need it; then get Smith and MacAllister. Make them wait outside my parlor and stay with them.”  
The men chorused in unison, “Yes, Yer Grace, right away!” Johnstone and Lauder called Smith and MacAllister to help them and dragged Marley outside. When they were out of earshot of the main house, the men thoroughly cleaned Marley’s clock (they beat him severely) and let him know that he’d die if he trespassed here. Marley picked himself up and ran off into the night.  
Back at Claire's parlor, Lauder knocked on the door and all four men entered, hats in hands. She sat behind her desk and looked at Smith and MacAllister. "Smith, MacAllister, I've been told that Marley forced you to beat James Fraser. Is this true?" Smith stammered, "Yes, Yer Grace. He threatened us with a false stealing accusation and dismissal if we didn'a." MacAllister nodded silently. "Very well," Claire said. "You will not be punished, but the next time something like this happens, go to Johnstone or Lauder, yes?" The two men nodded and said "Aye, Yer Grace" in unison. Claire straightened up and replied, "Good, you are excused." The men bowed and left, quietly closing the door behind them.  
“Gentlemen, I wish to thank you for alerting me to Fraser’s real situation." She poured all of them a whisky. "He may live because of your bravery. I am promoting both of you to my lieutenants in my home and you will be responsible for more here; you will be my eyes when I cannot be here. You will also see to staff welfare from this moment on.” She rummaged around in her drawstring purse and pulled out two gold sovereigns, the equivalent of a month’s wages in those parts. She smiled and placed the coins in their hands, "I know you are both married – Lauder, you are about to become a father, so make sure you give these to your wives for the running of their households! You know I'll find out about it if you don't!" The two men grinned, blushed and laughed with Claire, who continued speaking, "You will both be given commensurate pay raises, of course." I'm also giving you both the rest of the day off with pay." She pulled her two finest unopened whiskies from her locked cabinet and gave both men a whole bottle they’d never dared dream of owning. She raised her glass and toasted their health. Both men blushed scarlet in surprise and pleasure, bowed deeply and left, hugging the whisky to their chests.  
She returned to Fraser’s room and found Mrs. Fitz spoon-feeding him more water and broth, murmuring quietly in the Gàidhlig to Fraser in her motherly way, which was her wont. Claire thanked her and let Mrs. Fitz retire for the night. She settled Fraser under the blankets again and sat down in a comfy chair, ready for her vigil. She got up periodically during the night to make sure he still lived. Reassured that they hadn’t reached him too late, she propped him up on pillows and she fed him again, pleased to see that he’d managed to keep down what he’d ingested. At around 6 am, Mrs. Fitz sent up more broth and bread with a kitchen maid as well as a nibble of breakfast for Claire. Claire fed Jamie again, praying he’d wake up soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, guys, thanks for waiting. It took a long time for this chapter. I hope I will be able to post every week, but I don't want to promise that and then not deliver. Of course, another plot bunny wormed its way into my thoughts and so I have another fic with a couple of chapters written. And, yes, the Jenny/Ian fic is still simmering on the stove - never fear!

Jamie finally woke on the morning of the third day. He opened heavy eyes slowly and looked at himself. What was he doing here? The last thing he remembered was Marley upsetting his food. It had all spilled to the floor, so Jamie hadn’t eaten anything, again. He’d crawled onto his pallet and didn’t remember anything more. He was clean and warm, dressed in a strange linen shirt with no arms to it that buttoned down the front. He was in a real bedroom with a fire roaring in the chimney, keeping the room warm and drafts at bay. He blinked and swiveled his head; Mrs. Fitz sat next to him, reading. He moved his fingers sluggishly and silently touched the back of her hand. Mrs. Fitz startled at the sudden touch, but smiled at Jamie,

“Ahhh, there ye be, laddie. Thank God above, ye came back to us! Do ye want some water, a bhalaich?”

Jamie’s throat hurt horribly and he simply nodded slowly. She brought the little bowl to his lips and let him have a few sips, “Aye, son, easy does it. Ye’ve been verra sick an’ scared us all ta death.”

“Did ye know Herself ‘as been here every day an’ night, sittin’ with ye, feedin’ ye?” His eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. “I see that surprises ye, lad. Not me. Why, the Mistress, she bathed ye and tended to all yer hurts personally.” Jamie blushed ten shades of deep crimson at that revelation. “Och, I had to nag her ta eat sumthin’. She’s been fair fashed about ye.” The chatelaine cleared her throat, “Aye, the Duchess is a natural healer. She was a lass of only eight years old when she came here. Her parents died in a coach accident when she was five. She was wi’ her father’s brother. They were on the road travelin’ to France when their coach was robbed. The horses panicked and the coach overturned in the commotion. Her uncle and the coachman died and the scoundrels thought her dead. I don’t know how she managed, but she unhooked the carriage horses and rode one up to His Grace’s door bareback – “ Mrs. Fitz took a deep breath, “After she ‘couldn’a wake’ her uncle, is what she told His Grace later.” Jamie reeled back in shock. A little girl, left to fend for herself, here, in the Scottish Highlands? Mrs. Fitz continued, “It was at least 5 miles to the main road; she must have been so frightened.” Jamie’s mouth fell open. “Aye, thank Jesus it was late spring an’ the snow was gone. ‘Twas her late husband’s father was the Duke at the time. When he asked her how she found the lodge, she said that she figured that the horses would find water, so she let ‘em ha’ their heads. She noticed the worn path leading to the burn they found and took the second horse’s reins and brought them all, literally, right to the Duke’s front door. He said later it was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen. Can ye imagine? Openin’ the door and seein’ a tiny lass and two horses starin’ at ye?” She snickered and Jamie smiled. “O’course, Himself an’ his wife took her in and gave her a place to stay. His son, her late husband, was but three years older than she was but she was farther along in her schooling!” Mrs. Fitz giggled at the memory of Claire correcting Silas’ grammar and spelling. They married when she was 16 and he 19. They only had eyes for one another. The Young Duke died well before his time – he got thrown by a horse – his neck was snapped instantly. Herself was never the same after that. The light fairly faded from her eyes. She mourned him and the future they never had for a long while. Her greatest hope had been a babe by him, but it was not to be. Mrs. Fitz’ eyes clouded with hot tears at the memory.

Jamie’s eyes burned with tears and shame. He didn’t think he’d ever been less of a Christian to anyone as he had been with this woman. He vowed that he would make it up to her, somehow. He whispered brokenly, throat on fire, “Grace... attacked?” 

“Aye, ‘twas a horrible thing, too. Whatever punishment that man got was too little. The law,” she snorted derisively, “the law wouldn’a lifted a wee finger to help ‘er. I foun’ ‘er, ye see.” A solitary tear ran down her pinked cheek as she went back to that painful day, “I would give all I have to erase that from her memory. Aye, she’s a good mistress, Jamie. She cares deeply about her tenants and servants. Ye’ll see.”

Jamie mimicked drinking and Mrs. Fitz gave him some warm weak tea with honey, “There ye go, lad. Nice n’ easy, Tha’s it. Honey will coat yer throat and make it easier to talk, soon, I promise.”

“M-mar-marley?”

“Och, lad, dinna waste any thought on that scum. Johnstone, Lauder, Smith and MacAlpine took care o’ him and threw him off the property, on Her Grace’s order.”

Jamie drank a little more broth and Mrs. Fitz busied herself helping him get beneath the quilts again. 

Claire arrived ten minutes later and motioned silently for Mrs. Fitz to join her outside Jamie’s room, “So, how’s he doing? Has he regained consciousness yet?”

Mrs. Fitz smiled, “Aye, Yer Grace. That he has. He canna speak more than a few words at a time; his throat is still too damaged. I gave him water, broth and weak tea with honey, jus’ as ye directed. He’ll be back on ‘is feet in no time.”

Claire smiled at the woman who’d been a comforting fixture for so many years of her still-young life, “Mrs. Fitz, I have no doubt that your broth will do miracles. And, if the soreness doesn’t go away fast enough, I’m sure you’ll frighten it away!” Claire grinned and Mrs. Fitz blushed. The women laughed and Claire went to sit with Jamie.

She opened the door slowly. Jamie was on the edge of sleep but his eyes popped open when he heard her quiet footsteps. She sat next to his bed and said in a hushed voice, “So, Fraser, I am heartily glad you are back with us. You gave us all quite a scare!” Jamie blushed red and whispered rustily, “Sorry.”

She smiled and Jamie felt it shoot an arrow into his heart, “I’m teasing you, Fraser. I am glad you’re better. Mrs. Fitz says you’ll be up and ready to take on duties soon.” She felt his forehead and Jamie bit back a moan at her smooth cool hand on his skin. “Well, it would appear that you have no fever, which is wonderful.” She reached behind her and handed him his tartan, which had been washed. “Go ahead and drape this over yourself to protect your modesty. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She left the room and he wrapped the plaid around his hips, covering his groin and buttocks. She knocked twice and said, “It’s just me, Fraser, I’m coming in.” She sat down in front of him again. “I’m glad you have no fever; that’s an optimal outcome. However, I do want to check your wounds to make sure they’re healing properly. I’m going to unbutton your sark, alright?” 

Jamie nodded, immediately noticing a change in her disposition. This must be her healer mode. “Please try and relax. I promise, Fraser, I’ll be as quick and as gentle as I can.” 

He gave her a small smile and forced himself to relax. Claire took a steadying breath in. _Jesus Mary and Joseph! His body is as beautiful as his face,_ she thought to herself. His chest was broad and well-muscled, with a smattering of freckles that looked like they’d been haphazardly sprinkled there by a mad fairy. He had four sets of very well-defined abdominal muscles and a beautiful cinnamon-blond-red happy trail leading to his... _NEVERMIND, CLAIRE!_ She chastised herself brusquely. He was massive. Unbidden, her thoughts snuck into forbidden territory – his thighs, which happened to be her second-favorite part of the male anatomy, right after the - _OH, MY GOD, I HAVE TO STOP!_ _HE WORKS FOR ME!_ She scolded herself once more. She couldn’t even look at her bondsman and blushed furiously. She dragged her attention back to the wounds she could see. Everything was dry, scabbing over or the stitches were holding up well. His huge arms looked like they could rip a tree right out of a mountain. She had a flash of herself being carried tenderly in those arms. She squeezed her eyes shut in exasperation with herself and refocused her attention on what was right in front of her. Thank goodness none of his knife punctures on his arms or shoulders were deep. She rebuttoned his shirt and draped his chest and torso with a warm woolen blanket. 

“Alright, I’m going to remove the blankets and the sheet, alright?” She smiled encouragingly at him. Awestruck by the beauty and gentleness of her eyes, he nodded mutely. Claire carefully peeled back the bedclothes and inspected the man’s thighs and could feel herself get wet and salivate slightly. Magnificent, rock-hard muscles adorned his legs, a testament to hard, physical work. She finished inspecting his front and helped him roll onto his back. God help her. She saw the awesome strength of his back muscles rippling in the sunlight streaming through the windows. One gouge of a knife had been particularly deep and she could see that it was weeping slightly beneath its bandage. 

“Fraser, one of your injuries looks like it may fester, so I’m going to remove the bandage and cleanse it, alright? It may sting a little.” She called for Mrs. Fitz and asked her for “the bottle from my study” and the woman brought it quickly. 

Claire poured three fingers into a cup and gave it to Fraser, “here, try to drink this. It will dull the pain.” 

Jamie raised the cup to her and tossed back the amber goodness. His throat and mouth burned and he grimaced. 

“The whisky helps clean your cuts in your mouth and essentially cleans your throat, Fraser. It may burn but it’ll help.” Claire removed the bandage and dipped a clean rag into a small bowl of the whisky. She cleaned the wound and all around it and Jamie hissed at the burn but emitted no other sounds. 

“I’m sorry, Fraser, I know that was hard to endure,” Claire said quietly. She patted the wound dry and gave him a couple of stitches, hoping that they would help the wound heal faster. She helped him onto his back again and asked Mrs. Fitz for a large bowl of broth with minced chicken and vegetables in it to try to get some food into him. “Fraser, do you feel strong enough to feed yourself?” Jamie was already fatigued from the exam and looked at her. He hesitated and then shook his head, blushing. “No need to be embarrassed, Fraser. You’re still recovering. Please, let me assist you.” She smiled gently and pushed a long curl behind his ear when it threatened to drag in the soup. Jamie closed his eyes – her touch was magical. “Alright, let’s get you to eat as much of this as you can, Fraser.” She fed him slowly, waiting until he was ready for another bite. By the last few spoonfuls, Jamie could barely keep his eyes open. The hot soup, warm bed, whisky and gentle care had pushed him into a blissful, relaxed state he’d never experienced before. She helped him under the covers again and as she was rising out of the chair, she felt Jamie’s hands gently capture one of hers. She looked at him in surprise as he reverently kissed her hand in thanks, sleepy blue eyes and tousled curls making him look somewhat like an overlarge child. He released her and she cupped his cheek soothingly, “You’re welcome, Fraser. Please try and sleep now, alright?” Her eyes held many mysteries, he knew. Today, though, something new and different was showing; but he couldn’t puzzle it out right then. Morpheus arrived and insistently led him away and James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser slept soundly for the next 12 hours. 

She brushed the stubborn curl off his forehead again, turned and walked out the door, knees wobbling the whole way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, guys, Jamie and Claire finally said "okay" to updating the fic... I am not sure if it will stay in its current version, but this is what they asked me to write. Please, let me know what you think, alright?  
> Note: If you are not familiar with my fics, they all deal with sex, smut, more sex and more smut. If that's not your cup of oolong, please, keep it to yourself and simply move on. Nobody's forcing you to read this fic. The explicit tag is on it for a reason.

Chapter 4

When Jamie awoke, bright sunlight streamed through the windows in his chamber. Johnstone walked over and smiled, “There ye are, man, welcome back. How de ye feel?”

Jamie cleared his throat and spoke quietly, “Much better, thank ye, Sir.”

Johnstone raised his eyebrows, “Dinna call me ‘Sir,’ Fraser, we’re equals here.”

Jamie’s eyebrows raised in surprise, “Aye, tha’s how it is here. Ye do have to call Her Grace by her title, but among the staff here, we’re all equals.”

Lauder notified Mrs. Fitz that Jamie was awake and she brought a large serving bowl brimming with piping hot soup and a mountain of soft bread and butter, “Alright, Jamie, time ta put somethin’ i’ that wame o’ yers. Do ye feel strong enough ta feed yerself?” Jamie nodded and she smiled brightly, “Tha’s bonny. Eat as much as ye can, a bhalaich. Mistress says ye need another two days in bed an’ then ye should be right as rain. An’ Herself may come by to check on ye taday.” Mrs. Fitz winked and left. Jamie ate slowly and enjoyed the fresh vegetables and lamb soup and buttered bread. He managed to finish it all and Lauder took the tray from him and set it outside the room. Jamie settled down into bed and enjoyed the feeling of a full belly; he wouldn’t forget the feeling of starving anytime soon. He was just about to drift off when the door opened and Her Grace walked in. He straightened up hastily as she advanced farther into his chamber. She came and pulled a chair up to the bed, “Good afternoon, Fraser. How are you feeling?”

Jamie cleared his throat and replied quietly, “I’m braw, Mistress, and ye?”

She smiled and Jamie was lost, “I’m fine, thank you. I heard from Mrs. Fitz that you ate well. I’m glad to hear it. How’s your throat feeling?”

He smiled, “Much better, thank ye fer all yer care, Yer Grace. An’ I am considerably less sore than the other day; I even managed to feed myself taday.” He grinned, “Mistress Fitz sure can cook, aye? 

Claire laughed, “Yes, she can, Fraser. I’ve known her since I came here. I learned quickly that it’s best to eat what she gives you and not argue. Not even my late father-in-law would defy her on that.” 

Claire shifted into healer mode, “So. I want to check your wounds, Fraser.” She leaned over the bed and pulled Jamie’s tartan into his lap. Jamie caught a whiff of her natural scent mixed with jasmine and oranges. It was a heady mix and Jamie knew he would remember it for many years to come. 

“Alright, I’ll come back. Same as last time – cover yourself and I’ll do a quick exam.”

“Yes, Yer Grace.” She smiled and left to go to the kitchens for a few minutes. When she knocked at the door again, Jamie bade her enter and was ready for her. She skimmed his chest with her beautiful whisky eyes and moved a bandage slightly to check a knife wound. As she touched him, a shock barreled down his chest right into his cock. Jamie sucked in a breath in surprise and looked at Claire, who had an equally stunned expression on her beautiful face, “Did you feel a shock, Fraser?” She wrinkled her petite nose. Jamie could have stared at her forever. Her eyes reminded him of the deep color of the sky on gorgeous summer days, so rare in the Highlands.

“Aye, Madam, I did. Must be the rug, aye?”

She gulped as she studied his beautiful face. He had a very strong nose and chin, always weaknesses for Claire. She was seized by an urge to bury her tongue in the cleft of that chin and kiss down his long, slender neck. She shook herself and nodded mutely in agreement. She put a hand on the quilt and stuttered out, “A-are you ready for me to examine your legs?”

Jamie saw the blush creeping from her sternal notch to her neck and his nostrils flared in arousal, although he was unaware of it. His eyes became darker as he looked her in the eyes and whispered, “Aye, Mistress. Go ahead.”

She mentally shook herself and focused on her task. His bruises were healing well and swelling had decreased, always a good sign. Her gaze traveled to his wonderful thighs and she wondered briefly how it’d feel to sit on them and ride – _STOP, CLAIRE, FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!_ She shook her head and asked him to turn onto his stomach. She turned around while she did it so he wouldn’t feel any more self-conscious than he already must. He turned over slowly and made sure his modesty was protected. She heard him settle and turned around. She was heartened to see that his wounds had made good progress. Every one was dry and scabbing over. She lifted the bandage on some stitches and they looked good, too. God, his back. So beautiful with its planes and muscles. She kept her hands at her side with difficulty; she wanted to caress him and make him moan in desire. She cursed inwardly and shut her eyes tightly, wondering when she would be able to control these completely inappropriate thoughts. She’d never experienced anything like the attraction she felt towards Fraser, and it frightened her. 

She hadn’t felt like this about anyone since Silas. Oh, God, Silas, her heartbreakingly beautiful husband, with velvet-soft kisses and loving, honeyed words. It had been five years since his death and 23-year-old Claire still missed him every day. She felt disloyal to his memory, and was ashamed of her carnal thoughts, “Darling, please forgive my weakness,” she prayed. Tears pricked her eyes and she sniffled quietly, remembering his deep, sonorous laugh and quick wit. She’d always felt safe around him, especially one day when she was 15, after he killed a wolf that had been stalking her as she was out gathering herbs one day. It was a beautiful sunny day; you know the kind, where perfect, soft breezes caress one’s hair and cheeks, birds sing together in perfect concert and drowsy bumblebees get drunk off the perfume of the flowers. Claire took off with her wee basket over her arm, telling Silas she’d see him later. He waved goodbye to her and resumed his work. She had just found a large amount of feverfew when she heard a slight rustling behind her. She paled and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She straightened up slowly, dreading what’d made the noise. She stifled a scream. She’d been so absorbed in her task that she’d allowed the wolf to creep up on her and her horse, who threw Claire and screamed in alarm at the large animal growling and showing its sharp fangs, ears pressed against its head. He circled them, eyes fixed on Claire. The horse took off for the stables. Silas was home at the time and his heart stopped when he saw her horse return without her. He took his best dogs, Bran and Lucas, and ordered them to “find Claire.” The dogs were ferocious to strangers but had adored Claire since her first day at the house. They pricked their ears and took off at a gallop, stopping occasionally to stick their noses in the wind. As they mounted a rise, the dogs’ baying got louder and Silas knew they’d found her. He gave them the command they’d been waiting for, “Ionnsaigh (attack)!” and the dogs rushed the wolf. They flanked him on two sides and Silas yelled at the wolf and pulled his sword, swinging it wildly in front of the wolf to make it back up. He used the wolf’s distraction and helped Claire onto his mount, murmuring, “Stay there, Claire, aye?”

Claire whispered, “yes, Silas.” 

He turned around and faced the wolf and pulled his gun from its holster, took careful aim and shot the poor beast dead. He picked the body up and balanced it on the back of his mount – the pelt would make a fine blanket. Silas led Claire back to the main house, the dogs happy after a successful hunt. After they got back, Silas checked her over for any injury and looked deep into her eyes, “Claire, God, oh, Claire! I was so frightened when I saw Cinnamon come back without you! His soft brown eyes filled with tears and he hugged her to him, wanting to protect her from anything and everything in their world that might harm her. She started weeping in relief and hugged him tightly. He kissed the top of her head and whispered, “Mo rionnag deàlrach (my shining star)” so quietly she did not hear it. It was that night that she admitted to herself for the first time that she had fallen in love with the young master of Thistle House. She thought back and couldn’t even pinpoint when it happened, but she knew she wanted to see him first thing every morning and last thing every evening. When he drew close to her, her heart beat faster and her stomach fluttered strangely. She saw how he treated his staff with respect and was fair with his tenants. Claire was sure he saw her as just his little sister and vowed not to risk their brother/sister relationship for anything in the world. She would swallow her feelings and marry the man of his choice when the time came; she knew he would pick wisely for her. 

She tried ignoring her growing attraction to him, but being around Silas became increasingly difficult for Claire. She kept making excuses so she didn’t have to be around him as much, and Silas’ feelings were understandably hurt as he had no idea what he might have done to offend her so that she no longer wanted to be around him. It all came to a head one day when they received their customary joint invitation to a summer lawn party held by the Duke of Pardloe. They’d attended the yearly celebration together since Claire was 9, because at that point, Silas still didn’t like girls, so attending with his “sister” was the best option. Today, the butler brought the ornate invitation on a silver salver while Silas was in his study. He opened the invitation and was glad, for the first time, to receive it. Surely Claire would attend with him, wouldn’t she? She couldn’t possibly manufacture an excuse to skip the celebration. He asked a housemaid to find her and bring her to his study. It took Laura quite a few minutes, but she eventually found Claire in her herb garden, “Miss, the Master wants to see you in his study, please.” Laura curtsied and returned to the kitchen and the goose she was plucking. Claire cleaned up and headed to see what Silas wanted. She knocked and he said, “Ah, Claire, thank you. Please close the door.” Her eyebrows went up in surprise – he didn’t normally require their conversations to be in private. The staff knew that if Silas was in his study with the door closed, he was not to be disturbed. 

“Please, Claire, have a seat. Would you like a port?”

Claire accepted a small glass of port and Silas poured himself a whisky. 

“Well, it arrived again, the invitation to Pardloe’s summer do.” Silas rolled his eyes in irritation. “You’ll have to decide what kind of dress you want. I know you can’t turn up in a dress you’ve already worn. I’ll have Mrs. Fitz arrange for the dressmaker to come out here and measure you, is that acceptable?”

Claire took a deep draught of her port and closed her eyes briefly. She looked down at the floor and mumbled, “No.”

Silas looked at her in surprise, “No? What do you mean, ‘no’?”

She looked up at him, face flushed in anger, “Silas, I said ‘no,’ and I meant it! I will not be attending the party with you this year or any year!” She turned on her heel and fled. 

Silas just stood there, dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open. Claire had never, ever, spoken to him in such a tone, ever. Not even as children, when they were quarreling, as children often do. He tossed back the rest of his whisky and pounded the tumbler on the massive oak desk. He got up and ran upstairs to Claire’s room. She wasn’t there, and she wasn’t in the parlor or chatting with Mrs. Fitz or Mrs. Crook. He looked out the bay window of the kitchen at her herb garden. No Claire. He turned when he heard Cinnamon whinny in excitement in the courtyard. _A ride._ He ran outside in time to see her canter towards the blossom-stained hills in the distance, “Claire!” he bellowed. She flinched and spurred Cinnamon to run faster and the mare broke into a powerful gallop. He swore and ran to the stables, “Rabbie!” he shouted for the stableboy.

“Aye, Yer Grace?”

“Saddle up Ajax for me, aye?”

Young MacNabb ran and prepared the Percheron and led him to his master, “Here he is, Yer Grace, ready ta go.” 

Silas mounted Ajax swiftly and urged him into a full gallop after Claire and Cinnamon. He could see her in the distance, even behind the long dust column the mare was generating. Silas urged his powerful stallion to move faster and Ajax’ stride seemed as silk, so smoothly did he move. After a few minutes, Silas and Ajax pulled slightly ahead of the young woman and her mount. Silas leaned over and wrestled Cinnamon’s reins out of Claire’s hand and forced them all to stop. Undeterred, Claire jumped down and ran from Silas as fast as she could. Silas tied the horses’ reins to an overhead branch and swore up a blue streak and took off after Claire. He caught her around her waist and swung her around with the inertia of their movement. She yelped and fought to be released, shrieking, “Silas Moriston, let me go this instant!” Her face was red with exertion and her eyes sparkled daggers in her anger at being caught, “How dare you!”

He refused to release her and yelled, “How dare I? How dare I? You’re the one who ran away from me, Claire!” He was panting and his normally calm eyes were wild with rage, strands of golden-blond hair standing up from the breeze, “What’s gotten inta ye, lass? We go ta tha’ blasted party ever’ year tagether so we can get _through it_ tagether! What’s changed? Ye haven’a spoken more than a ‘please’ or ‘thank ye’ ta me over the past weeks! Have I insulted ye? Have I hurt ye? What is it?” His panting wasn’t quite as fierce now and he drew a deep breath, trying to calm his heart that beat a tattoo against his ribs. Claire looked in his eyes and saw the hurt she’d created. Tears dripped down her face as she sank to the ground and covered her face with her hands,

“I can’t stand it.”

Silas tilted his head at her, as if trying to understand which language she was speaking,

“What canna ye stand, Claire?” He sank to his haunches, carefully pulled her hands away from her face into one of his and extended his handkerchief to her face and dabbing delicately at her tears.

His soft, gentle tone only made her tears come faster, “Oh, Silas, I’m so sorry for acting like such a brat,” she wailed. “I-I can’t stand the thought of you dancing with other girls at that damned party!“ The words dripped agonizingly slowly out of her quivering mouth.

He looked at her like she’d grown feathers, “Other girls?”

She nodded dumbly and remained silent.

He clapped his mouth shut and asked gently, “Why, Claire? I dance with other girls every year. It’s what I have to do; you know that! Why does it bother you so now?”

She looked up at him, whisky eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot now. She gathered all her courage and whispered, “because I love you, Silas Moriston. I don’t want to share you with any other girl, ever.”

Silas felt his heart expand and shatter into the ethereal lightness of a million angels’ wings,

He lifted her quivering chin with a trembling finger, “But, Claire,” he took a shaky breath, “I love you, too. I have, for a long time. I never acted on it because I was sure you didn’t feel the same about me.” Her mouth dropped open and she lurched forward and hugged him to her. He buried his nose in her curls, “Mo rionnag deàrrsach (my shining star).” He held her gently until her tears subsided and her breathing was back to a semblance of normalcy. They clasped hands and sat until they were both completely calm. “Silas, I would like very much to kiss you. May I?” Claire’s eyes had turned a shade darker, as had Silas’ clear brown eyes.

“Aye, mo blàth beag (my little blossom), ye may, anytime ye wish!” Claire Beauchamp’s and Silas Moriston’s first kiss was a template for all other kisses that would follow it. It was not too forceful or too gentle, too wet or too dry, too long or too short, nor too warm nor too cold. _It was_ _just right and left them both breathless with astonishment._

Neither Silas nor Claire gave a hoot about society and decided to get married right away. They rode home together and called the house staff into a meeting, waiting for Mrs. Fitz and Mrs. Crook, who were both busy in the kitchen. When all were assembled, Silas asked Mrs. Crook, Mrs. Fitz and the butler, Ryan, to give all the staff a drink of sherry or whisky, a happy surprise for the staff. 

The Duke smiled and said, “Miss Beauchamp and I have an announcement. We have discovered we love each other and are to be married as soon as possible!” 

Mrs. Crook and Mrs. Fitz smiled and laughed, and the rest of the staff applauded. Mrs. Crook looked at Mrs. Fitz and smiled. 

The women crowed together, “Finally!” Silas and Claire stared at the women and blushed. “Aye, Yer Grace, Miss Beauchamp, we’ve been hoping ye’d realize that ye loved each other before too long. It was plain as the noses on yer faces!” Everyone gathered laughed heartily at that, “Ayes” echoing the ladies’ pronouncement. 

Silas continued, “I ask you now to charge your glasses to the future lady of my house, Claire, Duchess of Glenfinnan!” Everyone raised their glasses to Claire, who blushed, pleased and honored, and snuggled bashfully into Silas’ side. 

The wedding took place a month later, after the banns had been posted at the estate’s chapel. Silas and Claire were married quietly, with Mrs. Fitz and Mrs. Crook as witnesses. They didn’t want to make a great fuss that evening and had a simple supper. Mrs. Fitz knew that Claire hadn’t had a proper talk with a mother figure and made sure to explain what was expected of her on her wedding night. Claire and Silas were eager to get to bed and retired at 9pm on their wedding night. Claire stood in front of Silas, shy and quiet, waiting for him to take the lead. He was just as nervous, but he tried to school his features so that Claire wouldn’t sense it. He kissed her hand and bade her sit on the divan. He knelt in front of her and gently loosened the ribbons on her dainty shoes. He removed them slowly, so Claire could get used to him touching her in such an intimate manner. He carefully pulled up her dress and trailed his fingers up her calf and thigh, stopping when he reached the ribbons holding up her silk stocking. He undid them and rolled them down her leg one at a time, sensing his new wife’s nervousness – she was shaking. 

He looked up at her with hooded eyes, murmuring, “My love, try to relax. I love you and I will try to make this as wonderful as possible for you. She smiled and he added, “It’s my first time too.” 

He finished rolling the stockings down her legs and placed them to the side. 

He stood and held his hand out, “Darling, please turn around and I’ll be glad to help you with your laces, aye?”

Claire’s eyes got big and she stuttered, “A-a-alright, dear.” 

She slowly turned around and took a relaxing breath. He loosened her laces and helped her remove her stays, underskirts, pannier, overskirts, bodice and sleeves. He left her in her shift.

“Claire, will ye help me with my stock and waistcoat, please?” Silas extended his hand to her.

She smiled and untied his stock and unbuttoned his waistcoat slowly. 

She looked up at him with love in her eyes and whispered, “Kiss me, husband.” 

He smiled down at her and rumbled, “As you wish, wife.” He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her gently, not wanting to push her too far too soon. She sighed in contentment and stood on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his warm neck. Silas licked her bottom lip, encouraging her to open her mouth for him. She complied and groaned when his tongue massaged hers. 

After a few minutes, they came up panting for air and Silas undid his tartan and tossed it on the divan. Now, Silas and Claire were only in their shifts after he took off his boots and socks. He placed his large hands on her tiny waist and pushed her gently towards the bed. He turned them around so he sat on the bed and she could stand between his legs. He was so tall they were nearly the same height. He allowed her to take the lead, amazed when she boldly licked his neck. He moaned, “Oh, Claire,” as she peppered his neck with soft kisses. She kissed his clavicles and pulled off his shift, curious to see him. She was nervous to see his genitalia, but sucked gently on his nipples, amazed when they puckered up like hers. She glanced down and saw his penis for the first time. It bobbed towards her in welcome and a shiny drop of pre-come crowned the tip. She reached out for it, and oh-so-carefully stroked his cockhead, delighting when Silas moaned, “More, mo mo sheud bheag (my little jewel), please!” Emboldened, she rubbed her palm on the tip. Silas was silent, and Claire wondered if she’d displeased her love, or worse, hurt him. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed and hardly dared breathe. There came his gravelly voice, though, urging her on, “Please, dinna stop, mo chridhe!” and Claire resumed her explorations, using all her fingers to sweep down his rock-hard penis. She reached underneath him and palmed his testicles gently, surprised when Silas’ breathy, delighted voice reached her ears, “Claire, yes, please, keep going,” so Claire did as her husband asked. She moved her hand up and down his shaft and played with his balls. Silas growled in need and Claire’s stomach flipped, muscles pleasantly tightened. “Claire, get up here, please, I need you!” Silas’ breathing was ragged and his voice bordered on desperate. She obeyed, and Silas divested her of her shift and palmed her sex, inching a finger down the seam of her nether lips, delighted at the copious moisture he found there. He scooted backward on the bed and held out his hand after pulling the covers down, “Come here, darling, and let me love you, please!” She crawled to the center of the bed and, remembering what Mrs. Fitz said, laid on the thick extra cloth spread across the mattress and spread her legs for her husband. He was amazed at the beauty of her young, lithe body, and not a little in awe of her. He crawled in between her legs and kissed her lips, tongue searching for its home in her mouth. He kissed his way down her neck and licked her clavicles. He licked down to her nipples and she saw stars when he pinched and pulled them gently. She moaned and he continued for a few minutes. Claire could feel the space between her legs getting wetter and wetter. Eventually Silas scooted down and kissed down her stomach and gently inserted a finger into her channel. She gasped at the intrusion. He stopped, startled, afraid he’d hurt her, “Mo leannan? Are ye alright?”

“Yes, Silas, I was just startled, that’s all. It feels good. Will you continue?” She smiled at him and he leaned over her and gave her a tender kiss.

“Aye, wife, I will,” She heard the smile in his beautiful voice and relaxed. He inserted his finger again, surprised by how soft her channel was, especially her walls. He pulled his finger out and looked at the shiny wetness coating it. Intrigued, he put his finger in his mouth and groaned at its musky sweetness. Claire sucked in a breath at the sight of Silas licking her juices off of his finger and her eyes grew dark with lust, “Put your finger inside me again, Silas!”

He grinned, “Yes, Yer Grace,” he replied cheekily. Claire responded by grinning and throwing her lavender-filled pillow at his head, “Cheeky bastard! Do as I say!” Silas growled at her tone and winked. He inserted his finger in her vagina again, moving it back and forth. Soon, he stretched her channel with a second finger and was rewarded by Claire’s hips thrusting into the air and a gush of wetness over his fingers. He settled between her legs and kissed her inner thighs, “Are ye ready, mo nighean?”

“Yes, Silas, make me yours forever, darling.”

Silas inserted the tip of his member just inside her lips and drew it up and down, wetting it in preparation. He pushed forward slowly until he reached her hymen. 

“Claire, I will try to make this as painless and quick as possible, aye? I ask yer forgiveness for any pain I cause ye.”

Overcome by his caring, Claire sat up and tenderly kissed the man who had captured her heart so thoroughly, “I know you don’t want it to hurt and you’ll try your best, Silas.” She settled herself back on the bed and spread her legs again, “Come to me, husband.”

Silas moved over her and leaned down for a passionate kiss. He kissed her breasts and licked and nipped his way down her torso and stomach. He pulled out and moistened his cock at her entrance again. He took a silent breath and pushed slowly and steadily inward. Claire whispered, “Oh!” at the feeling of being one with her husband. He continued pushing until he hit her hymen again, pulled back and pushed through in one quick, sharp snap of his hips. 

Claire grabbed her pillow and bit it to keep from screaming and Silas stilled, waiting until he thought Claire could bear his movement again.

“Mo chridhe? Is it alright for me to continue?” His dark brown eyes searched hers, begging her to answer him. 

“Yes, love, continue. I’m fine.” Silas stretched over his tiny wife and kissed her mouth and cheeks and used the distraction to start moving again. 

Claire noticed that soon, her pain gave way to a mounting pleasure, which surprised her. She’d heard whispers of how painful sex was with a man, but had never heard of a woman enjoying it. She knew she was definitely starting to enjoy this, though. 

She moaned in pleasure and whispered breathily, “Silas, oh, darling! It feels so, so good!”

Silas smiled at her and continued pumping into her. God, she was hot, wet and all his. This woman who had loved him secretly and whom he’d loved secretly for years was now his wife! He ground out hoarsely, “I dinna think I can be gentle with ye, Claire. I must have ye! May I?”

“Yes, God, yes, Silas!” Claire felt him start to move again and she hooked her ankles together over his back. Silas groaned in pleasure and started pistoning in and out of her channel. The feeling started slowly for Claire – in her nether regions. It was a delicious buzzing tingle that filled her belly and zoomed up her spine. As she climaxed, she saw stars and she screamed, “Silas, oh Silas!” Not a minute later, Silas Marston baptized his wife’s uterus with his seed, shouting “Claire, my beloved!” As they came down from their mutual pleasure, they kissed and embraced one another. Silas got soap, a rag and some water a maid had left near the fire to stay warm and cleaned the blood from between Claire’s legs, hissing in sympathy. He urged Claire up and folded the thick cloth differently, so she was lying on unstained cloth. He cleaned himself last and, worn out, crawled into bed with his wife. They embraced and kissed and slept happily entangled the whole night long.


End file.
